


Too Far.

by XiaXia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cruel Thramsay, Eventual Downfall, Fuck Ramsay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poor Theon, Ramsay is his own warning, alternate au, bad at tags, broken Theon, flaying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:56:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9113989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiaXia/pseuds/XiaXia
Summary: Ramsay didn't try to hide his atrocities, unlike his father. Whether it was skinning his bed-whores in the woods, flaying prisoners in the dungeons, it was painfully obvious. What would happen if the Young Wolf; Warden of the North caught word of what he was doing? (WESTEROS AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a fanfic that details the events in the show, just an AU. It'll all be explained, so don't worry!

* * *

"The raven is back." Robb noted with weariness in his voice.  _Dark wings, Dark words._ Greywind seemed to sense his distress, the direwolf knocked his head gently against Robb's leg, the direwolf looked up at him with something close to understanding.

Standing up abruptly from his chair, the Stark Lord's boots tapped against the cold stone foors as he paced his study. Greywind's eyes never left him, watching with worry. _He is nervous as well._

Maester Luwin had eased himself into the guest chair in Robb's study, his grey eyes had a grim set to them "It is m'lord, with a letter.  No one has opened it yet, not even myself. " His feeble hands clutched the parchment, still closed by a messy lavender seal. Robb eyed it with suspicion, his shoulders tensed against the cold.  _My father would not be so anxious over a piece of parchment... A lord of Winterfell needs to stay calm, cool, collected._

"Are you sure we can trust the source? We can't go attacking a strong house without reasonable cause, especially a house of my bannerman, Maester."  _Though it wouldn't suprise me._

Robb had only met Lord Bolton a few times, he'd not seen the man's bastard boy, but he knew something lurked in his pale eyes. Roose was mild mannered enough, quiet, but creepy.

 A cruel hunger existed in those pale eyes, though Robb couldn't go executing a man for his eyes alone. If the new rumors were true, there was trouble for the North. 

"My lord... The source we discussed, he is very much sure... Both of the Lord himself, and his bastard." Maester Luwin extended a spotted hand, clutching the letter. Robb took it in his hands, careful and grim. Greywind paced Robb's small study, anxious. "My lord, may I speak frankly?"

Robb raised his brow in silent question, but nodded his consent. "You may, Maester." 

The maester cleared his throat. "There were rumors, even before the bastard was brought to the fort, m'lord. About the young lord Bolton... They were silenced of course, after a time but...." Maester Luwin trailed off, tugging where his maester's chain chafed his throat. 

"About Lord Roose?" Robb asked, though he was dreadfully sure of the answer. Lately, the rumors about the Dreadfort Bastard had been resurfacing. It worried him, in truth, to have his bannermen flaying people behind his back. _Am I blind?_  "Continue. What were these rumors, Maester?"

"Lord Roose's father had just died... It was said that Lord Roose was... Sadistic. Though outlawed, it was said that he still flayed prisoners. The first night, was another rumor. That one went down quickly..."

 _You're tormenting me, Luwin._ Robb sighed, flicking back a piece of red-brown hair. "I can hardly see something more horrible than... Hunting women, Maester." He said, trying to restrain a shudder. "The bastard seems to be the worst." Nearly collapsing into his chair, Robb sighed.

"I hate to leave Winterfell, but this... I need to, its my duty. I'll ride to Dreadfort, Maester. Varys is a slippery spider, but It is not impossible that this is the truth."

"You'll go to Dreadfort yourself, My lord?" The Maester asked nervously, his wrinkled hands wringing in his lap "Is that wise?"

Robb chose to ignore the thinly veiled warning, nodding. Greywind curled up beside him. Robb nodded with a grave scowl, his fingers reaching for Ice's hilt. "If the Bolton's activies are true, I'll execute them myself. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."  _Its what Father would have done._

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

Reek shuddered as those hunting boots thumped brutally over the floor.  _Hes coming._ He wanted, no, needed to curl up and hide but Ramsay would be so very angry. He always was, when a hunt went badly. Ramsay had never seemed so furious, he'd flayed the poor girl alive, and raped her. She was a fool, Reek whimpered, the girl had BITTEN his master in an attempt to escape. Enough to draw blood. The girl's screams still rung in Reek's ears. He was glad, grateful, to be allowed to be a pet instead of Prey. Yet, Reek would still be the one screaming in agony tonight.

As soon as they arrived back into the Dreadfort, his lord had ordered him into his chambers. Ramsay was absolutely seething by then, and it was plain that Reek would be flayed tonight.  _Please, please, don't... It hurts so much... Please... I'll be good... Good Reek! Loyal Reek! Reek, please?_

He wanted to beg his lord for mercy, but tonight that would only annoy him. To annoy Ramsay would only ensure a flaying. Sometimes his lord enjoyed Reek begging, other times he despised it. It depended on his mood.

The heavy wooden door slammed into the stone walls as Ramsay had strode in, his pink Bolton cloak still spotted with human blood. It looked dirtier than when they arrived at the Dreadfort. Perhaps a serving girl had the misfortune to annoy him. Perhaps Ramsay would be merciful this time, and only fuck or beat him.  _Good Reek... Reek rhymes with Meek... No bite, please?_

"Fucking cunts, whore thought she could bite me..." He growled, nearly ripping his cloak as he took it off. Every inch of Ramsay reeked of ale, and Reek knew that this was bad. While it may have pacificed some men, it only infuriated Ramsay more. "Flay her whore family..." Ramsay growled.

Reek's breath froze in his throat, was Ramsay too drunk to notice him? _Please, mercy?_  Ramsay always knew though. His body shook, and it took Reek everything he had not to start sobbing. _Please, please? No flay?_ With a flash, one of Ramsay's hunting boots hit the wall with a loud crack. _Hiding... Make worse...He knows._

His head spun from the noise, and the damn broke. A screech burst from his mouth, flailing wildly in his hiding spot. Hot tears ran down the boy's face as he scurried out from under Ramsay's desk, and sobs wracked his body. Ramsay spun around with a snarl, his teeth bared like a rabid dog.

"What the fuck?" The pain was sharp as Ramsay ripped at his hair, dragging the sobbing boy down to his side. "Hiding, you little cunt?" Reek could smell Ramsay's hot and bitter breath on his face. The Bolton heir smelled of ale and blood, the crimson still painted his furs. 

"Please, sorry, sorry! Good Reek! Loyal Reek! REEK! Good boy, please?" The words fell from his lips as he sobbed, and terror seized him. "Sorry! Loyal Reek! Not hide!" Another wave of pain washed over Reek as Ramsay gave his hair another jerk to quiet him.

Ramsay tsked, pushing him to the ground. "You're giving me a headache, cunt. I should beat you just for that." The bastard snapped "You were hiding though, and you said you weren't. That makes it a lie. Do you remember what you learned about lying, Reek?" 

The boy sobbed and grovelled at his feet, because he HAD learned what lying meant. Lord Ramsay had already taken a finger for lying once, and had left it uncut for 2 days. It was going to be longer that, but Lord Roose said he scared Lady Walda with his wailing and cut it off himself. 'Yes! Yes!" Reek wailed, clutching and cradling his soon-to-be-flayed hand. 

His lord grabbed him again, but by the jaw this time. Nails dug into Reek's flesh, almost enough to draw blood. Against his better judgement, Reek opened his mouth to beg. Ramsay cut him off "So, you knew the rules, but you lied to me anyway Reek... Disobeyed too." Ramsay trailed off with a forming grin "Pick a finger, on each hand." 

Reek felt as if he was going to be sick. He couldn't contain his wails of panic and hysteria anymore, no matter how much Ramsay punished him. Two fingers at the same time, he couldn't bear it, he couldn't.  _"Please! I'll die! It hurts so much, please! Good Reek, loyal Reek!"_ The boy wailed.  _""I'm so sorry, Master!"_

"Pick. Two. Fingers. Don't you fucking dare try to hide. If you run, I'll take your whole fucking hand." Ramsay snarled, releasing his Reek and stalking over to the desk. On it lay the dreaded box of flaying knives, some dulled intentionally and some razor sharp. Ramsay would use the dull ones this time, Reek knew it. The knives rattled in their container as Ramsay pulled them under his arm, stalking back over to his Reek. 

"Up." Sobbing, Reek made it to his knees before collapsing onto the floor again. It wasn't act of willful defiance, he was just too weak. Ramsay would beat him for it anyway, though. 

Ramsay growled under his breath, hauling up up by his hair and roughly forcing him over the desk. "Which two, Reek?" He demanded, a command more than a question. Reek sobbed out an answer and Ramsay's smile was cruel. "I'm too merciful, honestly, Reek. My father would have taken your whole hand by now, be grateful." 

 Reek could only sob out his thanks as the flaying knife came out. 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

Robb Stark carried Ice in his hilt, and a dagger in his cloak. He didn't wish to use such weapons, but he had a feeling he would need them. His father would be so much better at this.  _I am afraid of what I might find. My own bannermen commiting treason and murder behind my back?_ Robb shuddered, but it was not from the summer winds. The stallion beneath him huffed, and Robb didn't realize how tightly he gripped the reigns.

His travelling party was small but carefully chosen. Skillful men and smart, Robb chose them with confidence that they wouldn't do anything to wreck his plans. The Bastard of Bolton might have had no wits, for all Robb knew. Roose was something different alltogether. Roose would suspect something if he showed up with an armada at ready. The rest of his men would be waiting close to the DreadFort, if the castle chose to put up a fight. Robb suspected they wouldn't though, not with their lords safety jeopardized. 

_The bastard would die too, Ramsay, if he took part in the atrocities. Too strange for Lord Roose to not have a heir other than a bastard... Though if the rumors were true..._ Robb sighed and adjusted the straps of his fur coat, his cheeks pink with cold. Somehow, it even seemed colder as they approached the massive castle. Robb had been only a boy when his father took him, his mother had protested but father had insisted he come. His mother seemed nervous then. Robb wondered if she thought the same as he did of their Bolton Bannermen. She still didn't want him to go, she was afraid that he would start something he couldn't finish; though she didn't say those exact words. 

Robb himself was hesistant. The Boltons were Stark bannermen, a strong house though with shaky alliegance. If Lord Roose hadn't commited these crimes, he was a fool. With his father's passing fresh in the minds of the Northern houses, it was worrying.

_I'm not sure I can do this, Father. Lordship is my duty, but can I manage it?_  It had been a fever that took the previous Lord Stark, a few years after he refused to go with Robert as Hand of the King. Robert Baratheon himself had rode down to Winterfell, at Lord Stark's sickbed. The maester hadn't even recongized the sickness that over took Ned Stark. Robb was the oldest Stark child, so the duties of a lord fell to him. He had always imagined being the North's Warden, but this was not the duty he was expecting. 

 "M'lord!" A voice called from behind him. Robb turned to see the captain of his guard, Jory Cassel, riding up beside his own stallion. "I think you need to see this..." Jory was not usually one to be frightened, but his face was etched with worry. The dread in Robb's stomach started to stir, and he was almost afraid to ask.

"We have a long road ahead of us, Jory. Is it an urgent matter?" Robb asked, he tried his best to sound like a proper lord instead of a nervous green-boy. It would do no good to get his group nervous before they even got to the castle.

Jory scratched his sandy hair with a nervous glance back to where the main group was traveling.  He murmured something inaudible and shrugged. "M'lord, I don't mean to upset the group, but this... This is bloody bad." 

"It is an urgent matter, then?" Robb sighed.

"Yes, m'lord." Jory agreed solemenly.

"What did you find?" Robb asked with a frown, tugging at the reigns of his horse.

"A flayed whore." Jory murmured so quietly that Robb had to strain to hear him.

Robb felt as though he had swallowed a stone. He had trouble forming words on his tongue, and he didn't even try to conceal the look of shock upon his face. "What?" He asked blankly, his heart plumetting in his chest. "Seven Hells, Jory! Alright, do you remember where you found the body? Good. Have Braeden lead the rest ahead, I need to see this.." Robb groaned. _How did you even come across a flayed whore? What have the Boltons been doing?_

"Its... Gruesome, m'lord.." Jory said with a disgusted look. "Teeth marks all over the girl too, poor soul." Calling commands across the group to Braeden, Jory ventured off the path and into the Northern woods.

_The flayed man is the Bolton sigil. A flayed whore._ "I'll bear it." He followed Jory off the path. How did you even find her, Jory?" Robb interrogated him with dread, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. Only the Gods knew how long the Boltons had been doing this, even though his father had outlawed the practice.

"Had to take a piss, found her like that... M'lord, I think the dogs got at her." Jory said with both horror and revulsion.  Almost as an afterthought, he added. "Funny thing though, your direwolf started howling and going mad as we neared the spot..." Robb was not suprised. Greywind was smarter than most wolves, he could probably smell the blood and rot from a mile away. 

"Greywind is a smart beast." Robb agreed with more confidence than he actually felt. Jory dismounted his stallion, his eyes averted from that one spot in the snow. Robb could feel the stew he had for lunch trying to come back up. It took all he could not to wretch in front of Jory Cassel. Blood had dried on the snow, it looked as if the wolves had gotten to the body.

Even the face of the girl was not spared from flaying, it was just rotting meat left on a skeleton. Maggots had begun to form in the corpse. "Oh gods..." Robb hissed through his teeth, averting his eyes. "Jory, its flayed from head to toe... Seven hells!" He felt his composure leaking, so he turned away.

"M'lord, are you alright?" Jory asked, but Robb ignored him. His Tully blue eyes were glued to a spot in the trees. 

That was when he saw it. A scrap of fabric, a pale pink and spotted with blood, hung from a tree branch. It was ripped, but Robb could see the edges of a flayed man symbol embroidered. Hesitantly Robb took it and held it in his hands.  _Women, hunted in the woods... Flayed... Boltons._  "Jory, I think we have our answer as to who did this." 

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Why the Starks? I thought they were holed up in Winterfell." Ramsay's voice was slurred from the wine and ale he was drinking. Across the table, Roose looked on at his son in disapproval. A normal day in the Bolton household.  

"Reek, more wine!" Ramsay barked.  _Don't spill. Don't spill. He'll be mad... Worse... More fingers..._ Scurrying over like a kicked dog, Reek's remaining fingers gripped the pitcher. Whimpers escaped his throat, but Lord Ramsay ignored him.

He wanted to howl as his skinless finger brushed the metal pitcher, the sting of his flayed fingers was fresh.  _Don't spill. Don't spill... Please..._  Lord Ramsay had said he would leave his fingers flayed for a whole week if he was bad, and Reek wanted nothing more than to please his lord. He tried, he really did, but Reek always ended up flayed and fucked. 

"Robb Stark was talking of a group of bandits and theives hiding out near the Dreadfort." Roose Bolton had a quiet voice, and Reek often strained to hear him. He was passive and quiet, most of the time, but that was only to hide the wretched things he did.  "He will be staying at the Dreadfort." Lord Bolton sent a cold glare to his bastard, his eyes less than amused. "That means, no hunts while he is here. No flaying either."

"I doubt Robb Stark cares what happens to a couple whores." Ramsay snickered, his pale eyes becoming more and more crazed with every drink. Ramsay leaned in to take another sip of wine, before finding the glass empty.  Reek nearly jumped out of his skin as Ramsay snapped at him. "Reek, more bloody wine! How many times do I have to tell you?" Reek could feel his body tremble and sting as he jumped to obey. 

"You're a messy butcher." Roose said, his voice blunt and unforgiving. "You act more like a rabid dog then a proper heir." His voice was calm but cold as ice. Reek flinched and backed away as Ramsay growled in agiatation.

"Messy means it hurts more." Ramsay replied with a grin.

"Robb Stark won't catch wind of what you're doing. A peaceful land, a quiet people." Roose reminded his bastard, regarding him with cold pale eyes.

"Father, you-" Ramsay had started to say something, he had grown bold and vicious from the wine, but Roose cut him off with a sharp glare.

"This is a command, Ramsay." 

"So, you're allowed to flay people when we have guests, but I'm not?" Ramsay taunted. 

"Enough, _Ramsay Snow_." With two words, Roose almost had a broken nose. The Bolton boys shoulders tensed, and his hands curled into fista at his sides. Ramsay's face was flushed even paler than usual, if that was possible, and he bared his teeth in a snarl.

Ramsay's pink cloak billowed as he stood up, fury blazing in his eyes.  Ramsay looked as if he were going to attack his own father. Roose looked up at him, unflinching. "I did not dismiss you. Sit down." 

_Don't notice me, please... Please, don't. Please... Reek._ Ramsay glared at his father but sat down again "More. Wine." Lord Ramsay demanded. Reek nearly stumbled over his own feet in an attempt to not anger his lord further, but a cold hand gripped down on Reek's wrist. Lord Roose pried the pitcher out of Reek's fingers, placing it on his side of the table. Reek could only gape in horror, stuttering on his words.

"You've drunk quite enough, Ramsay."

 "Fine." Ramsay grumbled, his pale eyes had locked onto the trembling form of Reek. "Reek, go back to my chambers and wait for me there." He waved his pale hand and Reek nearly ran from the room. 

Chest heaving, Reek's eyes stung with unshed tears. Lord Bolton had called Ramsay 'Snow'. That meant pain for Reek tonight. Theon wanted to run, but Reek simply wanted to cry and hide. Ramsay hated him hiding though, so he couldn't. He needed to be good, if he was good, perhaps he wouldn't be hurt. 

* * *

 

"Reek!" Ramsay's voice echoed throughout his bedchamber. Reek's body trembled as the door opened. There was a slur in his lords voice as he spoke, but Reek didn't want another finger flayed for hiding. It took all of his might, and the threat of another flayed finger to calm him enough to crawl to his lord. 

"M-master?" Reek stammered, his teeth chattering slightly as he sat by Ramsay's boots. It was so cold, but Reek hadn't proved he was good enough for blankets. On his masters good days, Reek got the kennels.

"You weren't hiding this time, were you Reek?" His masters voice had a sharp edge, one that told of future pain. "Been a good boy while I was away?" Ramsay's tone was light and airy now, but Reek knew how quickly this could turn toxic.

"Good Reek... No hiding, Master." Reek managed to sputter, his words feeling awkward on his tongue. He tried to make himself small and submissive and good. Ramsay only hurt him when he was bad. A hand reached toward him, and Reek braced himself for the pain to come. A finger looped under his collar, his lord gave it a tug. 

"You wish to please me, Reek? Don't you wish that?" Ramsay purred in his-too-happy tone. Reek was waiting for the trick, for his master to find a way to punish him.

"Yes. Yes, please. Want to serve, m'lord." Reek felt those pale eyes examine him, sliding down from his face to the awkward mess of scars where his cock used to be. Reek hated those scars, especially when his master threatened to rip them open again. 

"What an eager little bitch you are, Reek." Ramsay tugged at Reek's mess of curly hair, his fingers cruelly ripping and pinching. It stung Reek's scalp but he didn't dare move. 

"Yes, m'lord. I only want to serve you, please m'lord?" Reek whimpered as Ramsay let go of his hair "Good boy?" 

Ramsay smiled, and Reek thought he could almost see kindness in his eyes. Almost. "You better be stripped by the time I'm finished undressing." Ramsay said, turning away to strip away his own clothes. Reek's hands trembled as he lifted the tunic, yet he couldn't seem to be fast enough. His whimpers turned frantic, if he didn't obey he would get hurt. Though he didn't know how he managed it, Reek stood trembling and naked by the time his master turned back to him.

"I'm going to make you scream tonight, would you like that Reek?" Ramsay was beside his pet in a flash, his hard cock pressed against Reek's bony legs. Ramsay's fingers cruelly pinched his nipples, and Reek tried his best not to cry.

"Hands and knees. On the bed." Ramsay commanded, and Reek did so without protest. Once, Theon would have bitten him and nearly bit his cock off. Not Reek, though. Reek knew better. Reek felt Ramsay's hands on his hips, his lord's cock brushing up against his cheeks. With no preparation, his lord was in him.

There was no lube for Reek, not for a creature worth less than a hound. Ramsay had him every night now, and his master was big. Reek felt himself being ripped open.  Reek couldn't help it, a howl burst from his lips at the stinging pain. 

"Fuck, Reek." Ramsay groaned, though Reek was more focused on the pain in his ass. "You howl like a bitch in heat." Reek couldn't hide his cries anymore, and his shame was forgotten. It only seemed to make Ramsay more hard, and the thrusts were faster. 

"You like this, Reek. You're a dirty fucking whore, MY whore." Reek's back trembled and he was sobbing into the bed, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, first off, I am so sorry for the delay. Part of it is my fault, I'll admit. I slipped in ice, and sprained my wrist. I'm going to update more regularly, now that I can type without killing my wrist.

"At least we know why its called the Dreadfort now, m'lord." Jory muttered, his face etched with unease. As if a foreboding omen, Greywind had gotten.. Edgier as they approached the Dreadfort. The wolf's yellow eyes were bright with what Robb thought was terror, and he snarled and snapped at anyone beside Robb. Robb regretted having to do it, but Greywind was now kenneled as they approached.

Hopefully, Greywind wouldn't rip out Roose Bolton's throat before he could finalize a decision. "I'm as worried as the beast, m'lord, considering..." Jory trailed off, but Robb got the jist of it.

It was hard to believe that the Boltons were innocent of the crime. The mauling of the flayed whore was so bad that Robb almost vomited before they could bury her. 

"I know." Robb agreed. "I know." He could still feel the scrap of pink cloth, embroidered with the Bolton sigil, in his pocket.

"We should be to Dreadfort by nightfall. Do tell me if you see anything. If you come across Roose Bolton flaying someone for instance, that would be helpful to report." Robb half japed, but he wouldn't be surprised with the events of late. His legs chafed from riding day and night, and his mind was too flooded to think properly.

"M'lord... Forgive me for being so frank, but you need to sleep. You've been practically falling asleep on your horse. If it please you, I can take the lead for a while, m'lord." Jory offered with a look of concern.

"I'd rather have answers, and justice." Robb replied flatly. In truth, he was tired. Exhausted, even. It was his duty, though. He was the Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell. It was the burden of a lord.  "It would be a shining example for my men if I take a nap while you charge on." He quipped with a slight scowl. A nap sounded good, like heaven.

  _I have a duty to the North, to the realm._

"It wouldn't be a good example if you fell off your horse and died from exhaustion." Jory retorted. The head of guard was a clever man, not too hot tempered. It was why Robb chose him to help with the journey, but he suddenly regretted the man's cleverness.

"Seven Hells, I'll rest when I bring justice to the North." The Young Wolf threw his hands up in the air, with a groan. He urged his horse to walk faster, there was a small chance he might lose Jory in his small horde. Small chance of that. Jory followed Robb on his stallion with a stern scowl, sighing. 

 "Do you see that?" Robb froze, his Tully Blue eyes had locked something in the distance. Moving dark shapes moved across the road from the distance, coming closer.  Jory squinted, his brows raised. "Dreadfort men?" Robb asked.

"Yes, m'lord. Bolton men, by their cloaks." Jory breathed, his teeth gritted. Robb's hands tightened on the stallions reigns, gesturing with his hand for Jory to follow him. 

"Shouldn't keep our hosts waiting." Robb said as cool and calm as he could manage, though his fingers reached for Ice on instinct. The silver stallion he rode huffed impatiently, and Robb wearily pulled on the reigns. 

"Jory, stay here..." Robb instructed in a hushed voice, as so not to alert the rest of his group. "Make sure my men don't kill anyone, alright?" He said, only half joking. The scrap of cloth, bloodstained and an ugly pale pink, had been shoved into his pocket.

His fingers twitched, reaching for the valyrian steel hooked at his belt, then back to the scrap of cloth in his pocket. He couldn't go attacking Bolton men, yet anyway.  The Bolton's WERE his bannermen after all. Robb hardly fancied being the Stark Lord who butchered his own bannerman because of his paranoia.

If he was wrong about executing the Boltons, his own bannerman wouldn't trust him. If he let the Boltons escape justice, he would be a craven fool. 

"As you say, m'lord." 

 The Young Wolf rode ahead with a heavy heart. His father would know what to do about the Boltons. Roose had always been shaky as an ally, strange and quiet, but something about him made Robb uneasy. He could hardly let them escape justice, just because they were his bannermen.

He kept an hurried pace ahead, his small mob of men riding behind him. As Robb rode closer, he found the men waiting for them at the gates. A feeling of uneasiness rose in his stomach as he approached. _I have a duty to the North. I have a duty to the North. I have a duty to the North, and I must do it._  


End file.
